


Grave Clothes

by Alyson_Page



Series: Birdtalker [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyson_Page/pseuds/Alyson_Page
Summary: “Hey Replacement.”The nick name alone was recognizable enough to Tim, with or without the mechanical reverberation of the voice modulator. He automatically shifted his stance to the defensive, his weapon brandished aloft, his other hand returning his comm online.The Red Hood was firmly planted before him, leather jacket-less in the months heat wave, gloved hands held high and somewhat wide, in an attempt to appear as non-threating as he can make his naturally intimidating form. “I’m not here to hurt ya. I just wanted to talk.”“Sure,” Tim shrugged, feigning belief. “And I’m B’s favorite child.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Birdtalker [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677238
Comments: 116
Kudos: 1145





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is the first story I am posting on this site. I have considered doing a series of one shots. There is at least one other planned after this one. There are a mix of different Batman origin/references in this, nothing is taken from one universe in particular. If you read it, I hope you like it. Not Beta'd.

“Thought’s you’re thinkin’ make you feel like you’re dead.  
But you can grow a garden out the top of your head.”  
Graveclothes  
By Birdtalker

On nights like these the air in Gotham felt the same as the roof gravel that dragged under Tim’s boots; Coarse, dry, made too hot by the summer day to be comfortable even after the dark chased the sun below the horizon. He had replaced his cowl with a domino mask tonight, and now, several hours into patrol it wasn’t any cooler than it had been at three in the afternoon, and his hair was clinging to the back of his neck with sweat, his fingers occasionally ghosting his wrist in a vain search for a hair tie.

“O, it’s quiet from West Side to Red Hook. Should I broaden my route back?”

 _“You can take Fort Clinton through Colgate Heights. BG Snagged Columbia after SCI. Slow night for everyone,”_ There was a click, followed by an increased buzzing noise, and Tim could almost see Barbara adjusting her many fans by the glow of her screens. _“The heat may make some people crazy, but I guess it get’s hot enough to keep even the worst in every once in a while. Just give it a once over and pack it in for the night. If anything pops up, I’ll notify you.”_

“Understood.”

Tim muted his end on the comm, taking a measured drink from the canteen he had removed from the supply cash at this location. The sudden thump of boots landing behind him had the water spilling to the ground, Tim’s hand reaching automatically to grip his bo staff.

“Hey Replacement.”

The nick name alone was recognizable enough to Tim, with or without the mechanical reverberation of the voice modulator. He automatically shifted his stance to the defensive, his weapon brandished aloft, his other hand returning his comm online.

The Red Hood was firmly planted before him, leather jacket-less in the month's heat wave, gloved hands held high and somewhat wide, in an attempt to appear as non-threating as he can make his naturally intimidating form. “I’m not here to hurt ya. I just wanted to talk.”

“Sure,” Tim shrugged, feigning belief. “And I’m B’s favorite child.”

“I’m serious. See, look,” he paused, shifting to look at his right hand before moving it slowly toward his head. His gloved fingers pressed into a hidden catch near the side of his neck, and the helmet let out a quiet hiss before he removed it completely.

Jason held onto to it awkwardly before tucking it into the slight dip between his hip and stomach, while the fingers of his free hand absentmindedly brushed the white fringe of hair away from his forehead. His handsome face was maskless and bore no signs of flushing or moisture, and Tim’s mind wandered briefly to the mechanics of the helmet, and if what cooling system Jason used in it could be adapted for his own suit and cowl.

“Turn off the comm so we can talk,” Jason instructed.

“No.”

“Look, you may not mind being on the Bat-Family Radar every second of your life, but I’m not interested in them dropping eaves on mine. So, tell Barbs you’ll get back to her.”

Tim eyed Jason carefully, looking for any indication that it was a trick. “O, I’m going offline, if I don’t check back in exactly fifteen minutes, I need you to send back up to my location.”

_“Is that Hood?”_

“Yes.”

_“Red-“_

“It’s a non-hostile,” Tim promised, not taking his eyes of Jason. “For now. Fifteen minutes. That’s all.”

The typing from her end sounded suddenly aggressive, her voice tight as she gave in to his request. _“My timer has already started.”_

Tim turned the comm off completely but did not loosen his grip on his staff.

“Paranoid Replacement,” Jason scoffed unkindly.

Tim smiled, giving a practiced tilt of his head. “I think of it as rightfully cautious.”

“You should be his favorite, even you aren’t,” Jason frowned. “You’re just like him.”

“I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to sweet talk me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” Jason snarled.

“And this isn’t my usual patrol route,” Tim snapped back, causing Jason to flinch minutely at his sudden lack of composure. Tim swallowed, letting his voice return to its prior level cadence. “How long have you been in town?”

“A few weeks,” he shrugged. “Try as I might I just can’t keep out of her for good. Gotham is my drug of choice and I keep falling off the wagon.”

“I’m sure Arsenal just loves that metaphor.”

Jason bristled immediately, his arm tightening around his helmet, “He’s clean. He’s been clean-“

“I know,” Tim interrupted softly, regretting the comment the moment it passed his lips. “And I know you didn’t come here to talk about him. So, what did you want?”

Jason set his helmet down and then stared pointedly a Tim. His mouth pinched into a frown and even his eyebrows appeared slightly drawn. Tim could only stare back into the blue-green gaze, watching from behind his whited lenses, only to realize that Jason’s eyes seemed less green then they had before.

Tim released a near invisible sigh, collapsing the staff down and tucking it away.

“I’ve been…seeing somebody.”

Tim felt his spine lock up before he could even blink. “Congratulations?”

Jason turned pink around his neck and ears, the implication of his own words dawning on him too late. “No! Not like-I’ve gotten some help. I’m still getting help, and I’m not better, I mean I am better, but I’m working through it, this whole process…and-“

“You’re making amends.”

“Shut up,” Jason growled, blushing harder. “It’s not amends, this isn’t a twelve-step program. I’m just-“

“Seeking me out,” Tim supplied, shifting his weight between his feet, “because your therapist-“

“I’m just trying to fucking apologize, can you shut up and let me?!”

Tim stilled, immediately rushed with guilt, as though water had been dumped over his head, freezing the breath in his lungs. His thought process stuttered to a halt for a full five seconds, before it decided to reboot. Tim reached up, carefully releasing the domino and slipping it into his belt. If this is what Jason came here to do, Tim was going to make him face it fully.

Now, Jason had seen pictures of Tim from his civilian life. He remembers vaguely the little boy of Tim at a Wayne event or two, when Bruce had first adopted him, and he was forced to mingle in that ridiculous child sized tuxedo. Both attempts Jason had made a few years prior on Tim’s life when he had first returned, it had just been the New Robin he was trying to get. He hadn’t really cared who was under the mask. He still doesn’t really care. But the older pictures of tween Tim don’t really look like this real-life teenage Tim.

He isn’t dashing like Dick always managed to appear, and he doesn’t possess the same rugged good looks that Bruce or even Jason himself had been given, but he was prettier than any of them could have ever hoped to be. He’s grown into his nose and cheek bones, and his eyes are a color blue that hurts. Considering he still has a few years until he stops growing, it’s apparent he might end up the cover of those magazines with the “Gotham’s Best-Looking Bachelor” articles that Bruce had always found himself in.

“I’ll be quiet.”

“Jesus,” Jason huffed, his hands tucking themselves away into his pockets. “You don’t have to look at me like that, just…I owe you an apology. I was messed up, when I came back, I was really messed up. And I don’t think anything could have changed that. But I was angry with B, and I chose to take that out on you.” Jason sucked in a sharp breath, stealing his nerves. “And I’m sorry I did that.”

He maintained eye contact with Tim as he had spoken, never wavering as much as his body indicated that he wanted to.

“I forgive you.”

“You-what?”

“I forgive you,” Tim repeated. “I accept your apology.”

“You accept my apology,” Jason parroted back, his voice edging with disgust. “Replacement, I tried to kill you. More than once.”

“And now you’ve apologized,” Tim shrugged. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Me to say it was okay?”

“No,” Jason said, stomping closer. “That’s not what I want. It’s not okay! So, don’t stand there and pretend it’s okay. Don’t give me some fake acceptance. I’m not here to get something from you, I’m just here to tell you that I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand. You’re allowed to present an apology, but I’m not allowed to accept it?”

“I don’t want you to forgive me for something that’s impossible to forgive. I don’t want any phony BS, I’m not Bruce. He might buy into that, but I don’t.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, frowning at the mention of Bruce. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Jason grunted, retreating towards his helmet. “This was obviously a mistake.”

Tim followed him, his footsteps hurried and light in contrast to Jason’s trampling. “You think I’ve fake forgiven him for something?”

“It was stupid to think you would understand,” Jason rounded on him sharply, his finger pointed accusingly out, almost jamming into his sternum. “You’re too much like him.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“The Joker!” Jason cried, his hands floundering as if he needed to push Tim away or shake him but couldn’t bring himself to touch him. “You…I found out- and I thought maybe…”

Tim bit into his lower lip, nodding slightly in understanding. “You found out about Junior.”

“How can you just pretend to be okay with that?” Jason asked, his voice strained and near breaking. “And after everything that happened to me, B let that happen to you and then Barbie and you forgive him? You can’t forgive things like that. ”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” Tim mumbled. “I didn’t fake forgive him. I do forgive him. If anyone has been given false forgiveness, it’s me. B is the one who has pretended to forgive me.”

“How could you owe anyone, let alone B, an apology for that?”

“I shot him,” Time shrugged, both accepting and shamed. “I shot the Joker, and medically he was dead for several minutes before they managed to revive him. And to B, to his code, that makes me a killer like anyone else.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! You had been-you were tortured. Brainwashed. B is only alive because of what you managed to resist, and you’re the one who apologized to him? That is beyond anything I could even-Jesus, what is the matter with you Bats.”

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t fucking apologize to me,” Jason spat, starting to pace a short distant across the roof. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one aggressively between clenched teeth, sending Tim a repulsed glare. “You’re the one who should be in therapy.”

“I am. I’ve been in therapy since I was a kid.”

“Then you should be better adjusted than this.”

“You’re probably right,” Tim admitted, looking towards the purpling skyline. “Can I ask…what did your therapist say, to make you feel the need to come here?”

Jason snorted, the smoke coiling around him like the insistent fog that clung to Gotham’s Harbors. “Some flowery metaphor about how I’m still wearing my grave clothes. Facing trauma, letting go. Unburdening oneself from the past so a healthier future can unfold. You know, the usual dialogue.”

“Well I guess it worked,” Tim gave a hesitant twitch of his lips, the barest hint of smile felt like the bravest thing he had done in months. “Thank you, for the apology. I neither accept not deny it, but…it is nice to have gotten it. Thank you.”

“Alright,” Jason warned, crushing the remainder of his smoke under his heel, “don’t go getting any funny ideas, okay kid. This does not make us friends. I still don’t like you, and I’m not about join your team or help you out or give you any favors. And we aren’t gonna bond over clown fear or something stupid like that.”

“I’m not afraid of clowns,” Tim said, looking Jason up and down, before focusing his eyes on the holstered weapons strapped to his legs. “I am afraid of guns though.”

“You’re in the wrong line of work.”

“My therapist said I should face my fears.”

“Yeah, I’ve a feeling they didn’t mean it like this.”

“No. She suggested a shooting range.”

Jason released a quick bark of laughter. “I bet B loved that.”

“He doesn’t know,” Tim told him, watching Jason’s face shift to disbelief. “What? I don’t tell him everything.”

“Are you going to tell him about this?”

“You want to be my dirty little secret?”

“Shove off,” Jason hissed, the pink returning to his ears. “You’re the worst, Replacement. And we’re about out of time.” Jason picked up his helmet, pushing his hair back. “We good?”

“Yes. We’re…good.”

“If I see you in my part of town I’ll-“ Jason stopped, his fingers falling away from the gun he had been about to pat. “I’ll kick your ass.”

“Sounds fair.”

Jason gave him one final look, nodding curtly before replacing the helmet and taking a running bound to the building behind them. Tim watched him until he disappeared across the roof tops, his fingers tracing the place where the near invisible scar on his throat resided under the protective collar of his suit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t know you were in town,” Bruce finally said.
> 
> “Isn’t that the phrase of the day,” Jason scoffed. “That’s because it isn’t any of your business. Gotham is my home and I don’t need your permission to be here.”
> 
> “No, you do not,” Bruce agreed, giving Jason a quick appraisal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, well here is hoping I haven't taken a perfectly acceptable One Shot and ruined it. 
> 
> Work is not beta'd.

“He’s been wishin’ he was the best and the brightest.

Scared to give what he’s got, no he wouldn’t give it away.

Self-deprecation, lack of motivation, stealing his aliveness.”

Graveclothes

By Birdtalker

Jason perused the corner market shelves quietly and without much thought, ears tuning in and out of the static ambient music as it trickled from the overhead speakers. Septembers’ heat wave had finally dwindled at the close of the month, and October was promising to be cold and gusty, the brown decay attacking what few stunted trees that grew halfheartedly in his part of town. The door opened with a slow drag coupled with the automated ding, and the chill that rolled in brushed against his cheeks, sending a quick spasm through his body.

He rolled his shoulders, walking a few paces down and scouted for the yellow box that held his favorite brand of hot chocolate. He dropped the container into his basket letting it join the bag of rice, bell pepper, onion, and celery that already resided there. He picked his way gradually through the next few aisles until he found himself in the deli where he dug through the sausage until he found the one that best suited his purpose.

His phone buzzed suddenly before he had even taken his hand off the packaging. Jason frowned, eyeing the number that he didn’t recognize, before sweeping across the screen to decline it. He placed it back into his pocket, picking up a carton of eggs and a half gallon of milk on his way to the register.

“What are you making tonight?” Eva asked, sliding his items across the scanner and placing them into the tote bag he had provided.

“Trying a new gumbo recipe,” Jason smiled. “Had a craving.”

“How were those stuffed pasilla peppers last week?”

“Pretty good,” he shrugged. “But Marco’s are better.”

Eva nodded knowingly. “Well, we can’t all be Marco.”

The phone started to buzz again, and he declined the call without looking, pulling out his wallet to hand payment over to Eva. He would have to have Roy look at it in the next few days, his number was meant to be unlisted, but he supposed it wasn’t impossible that someone could have misdialed and reached him instead.

“Thanks Eva,” Jason said, hooking his fingers around the braided straps and taking it off the counter. “Keep warm.”

“You too.”

Jason slipped his exposed hand into his pocket, wishing he had thought to put gloves on. He was only a few steps out of the shop when his phone buzzed once again. Jason huffed in agitation, watching the same number light up the screen. “You have the wrong number.”

_“Jay, this is Barbara.”_

“Barbie? What-“

_“Alfred is in the hospital, he-”_

“Which hospital?” Jason demanded, flagging down a taxi.

_“West Gotham Medical-“_

“Which room?”

_“ H217. He-“_

“I’m on my way,” Jason said, pulling the phone away and hanging up. He climbed into the cab, closing the door with an urgent snap. “West Gotham Medical, as fast as you can, please!”

Jason’s heart had dropped into his gut the moment Barbara had said _Alfred_ and shattered at the word _hospital_. He was grateful that it wasn’t far past mid-day and the traffic on Gotham’s streets was minimal, even having to come from one end of Gotham to the other, and he arrived sooner than he expected. The cabbie pulled into a patient drop off zone, taking the abundance of bills Jason thrusted at him without complaint.

He ran through the main entry, passed the check-in station and straight into the elevator, punching the round number two repeatedly with his thumb. He slid through the doors before they had opened fully, dodging a mobile nursing station in his way before stumbling through the doorway, unusually out of breath in his panic. “Alf!”

Alfred was sitting prim on the hospitable bed, white sheets drawn taught over his lap, his face widened visibly in shock at the sudden visitor. “Master Jason?”

“What happened?” Jason asked crossing the threshold to the foot of the bed. “Are you alright? Barbara called-“

“Master Jason I am quite alright,” Alfred assuaged, starting to smile. “You need not panic.”

“He fell.”

There was nothing that could stop the clench in his stomach as he turned to find Dick standing behind him, his arms crossed, still dressed in his Bludhaven Police uniform.

The muscles in his neck immediately tightened, his voice sitting low in his throat. “Dick.”

“Little Wing,” Dick greeted flatly, his arms still fixed across his chest. “Long time no see. I didn’t know you were back in Gotham.”

“Sorry I didn’t update you on the new address. You miss out on sending me a birthday card?” Jason mocked.

Dick ignored him, forging ahead with his interrogation. “How long have you been back?”

“Why, you have some crime you wanna pin on me?”

“Boys, I think that’s enough,” Alfred interjected firmly.

“Sorry Alfred,” Dick apologized, stepping back.

“It is very nice to see you Master Jason, though I wish it had been under alternative circumstances. I too would have liked to know you were home.”

“I’ve just been back a couple months,” Jason confessed, “settlin’ in. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Alfred, I didn’t think-“ Jason stopped, glancing at Dick before clearing his throat. “Anyways, so what happened? Have the doctors seen you?”

“Yes, I have been seen and it is not as dire as Miss Barbara might have made it appear,” Alfred folded his hands in his lap. “As Master Richard said I suffered a small fall at the Manor, but I remain for the most part entirely unharmed, with the exception of my right knee which, until the Doctor administered that delightful pain killer, was quite bothersome. But I anticipate I will be released shortly. My physician stepped out a few moments ago to retrieve my results.”

“You sure you’re not in any pain?” Jason asked. “I can get-“

“He doesn’t need what _you can get_ , Jason.”

“I was going to say I could get a Nurse, Dickface.”

“Alright Mr. Pennyworth, I have your x-rays,” a new voice cut in, and Jason saw the pale scrubs and white overcoat of the Doctor, the films held up, half obscuring her face. “Oh hello,” she paused, lowering them. “Another Wayne? Are you Timothy?”

“No.” Dick and Jason grunted in unison.

“He is not a Wayne.”

“Damian.” Bruce admonished, his hand resting heavily on his youngest sons’ shoulder, whose face remained looking as sour as his words had been. “Jay is family, Dr. Price.”

“Peterson,” Jason offered. “Jay Peterson, I’m Alfred’s’ Nephew.”

“Well, you’re just in time Mr. Peterson, I have your Uncles x-rays. And unfortunately, Mr. Pennyworth, you have managed to get a break in your knee. Now, we can get you home today, but you will be in a cast, and then you will need physical therapy. Other than that, you appear to be in perfect health, and I see no reason you won’t make a full recovery. “

“Thank you, Dr. Price,” Alfred said. “That is a relief.”

“And you’re not to do any of your usual duties until you’re fully healed.” Dr. Price turned to Bruce. “I’m sure you can manage things in the meanwhile Mr. Wayne.”

“He won’t be lifting a finger,” Bruce replied raising a hand solemnly. “I can promise you that Doctor.”

“That’s what I like to hear Mr. Wayne.” She looked at Alfred’s chart, made a few notations before setting it back in the slot, smiling at everyone in the room. “I am going to start working on your paperwork. And I will have someone from Ortho up to get you in a cast shortly.”

She left the room with a soft squeak of her sneakers, closing the door behind her to give them privacy.

“Hello Jason.”

“Bruce.”

“Todd.”

“Devil child.”

“Dick,” Bruce interjected evenly. “Will you take Damian to the cafeteria to get something to eat.”

Damian bristled immediately. “Father-“

Bruce raised a singular eyebrow at Damian, and Jason could remember Bruce giving him the same look repeatedly when he was that age. “We took you out of school before lunch.”

“Yes Father.”

Dick draped a loose arm around Damian’s shoulder, herding him from the space without looking at Jason or Bruce. The silence that followed was only interrupted by the soft hum of the monitors, the tension thickening as one minute stretched into ten.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Bruce finally said.

“Isn’t that the phrase of the day,” Jason scoffed. “That’s because it isn’t any of your business. Gotham is my home and I don’t need your permission to be here.”

“No, you do not,” Bruce agreed, giving Jason a quick appraisal. “What do you have there?”

He looked to the bag still clutched in his hand, his lips parting in surprise, “Oh.” Jason sat it down on an empty chair. “Nothing. Groceries. “

Bruce gave Jason a sad smile, “It’s good to see you Jason.”

"The feeling isn’t mutual.”

“I’d like a chance to change that.”

“I’m happy with the arrangement as it is,” Jason shrugged. “I just came here to see Alfred. This doesn’t mean anything else.”

Bruce opened his mouth but closed it again with a tight smile. “I’ll leave you to visit then.”

As he opened the door Jason could hear Dick and Damian as they approached. He turned to Alfred again, his face twisting painfully with his sudden need to be anywhere but in the room. Jason steeped up to the bedside, pulling a crumbled receipt from his pocket, pressing it smooth. He snatched up a pen with the hospital logo from off the table tray, writing in haste. “You can call or text me if you need anything Alfred. I’m glad you’re okay, but I’ve gotta go, I can’t-“

“Master Jason, please,” Alfred implored softly.

“It was really good to see you,” Jason breathed, giving Alfred’s hands a quick squeeze, heading towards the door, his groceries forgotten.

“Jay-“ Bruce started, reaching out.

But Jason pushed passed Bruce and plowed between Dick and Damian, opting to stomp down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. He exited the lobby and was engulfed again by the cold. He tugged his beanie further down his head, taking a sharp turn to the right to circle the hospital. He lapped the building twice, waiting for his heart to finally stop its erratic pounding.

Jason stopped walking as he reached the smoking area. He dropped onto the abandoned bench, digging into his inner pocket for his cigarettes and his lighter. He cupped the tip, rolling the wheel of the lighter with his thumb, the flint clicked roughly, but failed to light.

Groaning at his misfortune, he dropped his hands, when a small flame snapped to life beside him.

Jason turned, spotting a grey clad arm, his eyes traveling up to meet the gaze of Tim. He could feel himself frown, but he leaned forward regardless, breathing in as it ignited. “Didn’t think ya smoked,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

“I don’t,” Tim blinked. “But a lot of big wigs do, and you never know what business opportunity might arise from being able to offer a light.”

“Bruce teach ya that?”

“My mother.”

Tim chose not to sit down, even though there was plenty of room for it. Jason watched him as he took a few deep pulls from his smoke. Timothy Drake-Wayne looked properly corporate in his dark grey suit. It was smooth and wrinkle-less, with an expensive sheen and polished buttons, cut to custom perfection.

“She teach ya to wear designer labels too?”

The frown Tim wore was small, but existant and he reached up to adjust his already perfect tie. “I don’t buy established brands. I commission all my suits and special event wear from Design Students at Gotham’s Institute for the Arts. Wayne Enterprises funds scholarship there, and I purchase the fabrics for my pieces and pay the designers for the work. It’s part of the initiative “Equal parts Science & Arts” to encourage educational disciplines in all areas.”

“Well bully for you, Replacement, aren’t ya just doin’ good all over,” Jason blew a large lung full of smoke in his direction.

Tim didn’t flinch. “Did Barbara call you?”

“Yeah, what’s it to ya?” Jason growled. “Upset I beat you here?”

His overlong hair fell into his face as he shook his head dismissively, “I was in a board meeting, no phones.”

“Poor little Baby Boss, held hostage by his own workplace policies.”

“Does everything you say need to be some kind of dig?” Tim snapped.

“Does everything _you_ say need to make me wanna punch you in your perfect white teeth?” Jason pushed back.

“Wonderful conversation skills,” Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can really see a great dialogue developing here.”

“I didn’t ask you to have a conversation. I only came here to make sure Alfred was okay.”

“I understand that you’re upset, having walked into what probably felt like an ambush of almost all the people you can’t stand, but I just wanted to see if you were okay. Alfred was really worried.”

“Well, I’m just peachy,” Jason spat.

“Right,” Tim shook his head, his lips pressing in a firm line, turning back to the hospital. “Nice talking to you Jason.”

“You didn’t tell Bruce I was back,” Jason called after him.

Tim halted, looking back over his shoulder, “You made it clear you didn’t want to be on his radar.”

“And Barbie didn’t tell him either?”

“Because I asked her not to,” Tim said simply, continuing his way back, his perfect oxfords clicking against the pavement.

Jason deposited the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray, scowling as he trekked across the parking lot. The trip back to his apartment by foot took a couple hours, but he had managed to regain a sense of calm by the time he climbed up the seven flights of stairs, the dark orange glow of the sunset flooding through the dirty windows.

He pulled off his boots by the door, shucking off his jacket as he half walked, half slipped to the kitchen in his socks. He opened the fridge with the intention of opening the first beer he could reach, frowning immediately at the cartons of eggs, half gallon of milk, and Sausage he found there. He pulled out the milk, squinting at the label, which was the correct 2%, but it was a brand he had never seen before. The eggs and the sausage were also name brand, and he shut the fridge without the beer, peering around the kitchen until he spotted more items on the counter. His tote bag was there, folded neatly, the onion and bag of rice placed beside it, and Jason’s knew if he had opened the vegetable drawer in the fridge, the bell pepper and the celery would be there too.

On top of the bag sat a silver lighter. Jason picked it up, turning it over in his hand to find a small _JD_ engraved on the side.

The gesture offended Jason’s for reasons he couldn’t explain, and it was clutched in his hand so tightly had it been made of more fragile materials it would have shattered. He raised his arm to toss it into his trash, but that idea was somehow worse to him, as if it shouldn’t even matter enough to throw away. Instead, he slipped it beside his half-used carton, and proceeded to his room to sleep before patrol. He no longer felt like cooking, and the only thought he had as his head hit the pillow, was now he would need to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed back is always appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to read.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know why he hates you, don’t you?” Tim asked.  
> “Cause he’s a gremlin who wishes to make everyone around him miserable?”  
> “Because he’s afraid that Bruce and Dick are going to realize that he’s like you. Dick lost his trust in his first Baby Brother and Damian is scared that someday Dick is going to see that you two aren’t very different. He didn’t know what love could be until he came here and when he looks at you, he sees that it can be lost.”  
> Jason huffed, “That ain’t an excuse for treating you like garbage.”  
> “I’m hoping I’ll wear him down with kindness,” Tim smiled carefully.  
> “Heaven forbid you try that with me.”  
> Tim tilted his head, his blue eyes wide and innocent, “Are you saying it’s not working?” He teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it continues on. Unbeta'd and expanding just a little. Thank you so much to those who are continuing to read, and a extra special out pouring of gratitude to the commenters.

"In the silence love abounds and has already filled the spaces

And replaces them with grace if he would only stop

to feel, to see."

Graveclothes

By Birdtalker

Tim and Alfred walked together slowly up the office steps, their arms linked, Alfred using a beautiful black cane in his right hand for additional support. The cumbersome cast had been removed after the prescribed six weeks, and while Alfred was relieved it was gone, he struggled due to disuse and the Physical Therapy was likely to be a difficult task. Even for the Man who raised the family of Bats.

“I really think we should have arranged home visits, Alfred. We’re bound to start getting snow soon, and the last thing you need is another fall.”

“While your concerns are valid, as they always are Master Tim, I’ve been cooped up at home for quite enough time, and the exertion will serve me well.”

“Could we at least get you to consider a wheelchair when the weather turns?” Tim asked. “For our own piece of mind.”

Alfred smiled lightly, “I will indeed consider it.”

The doors to the office were made of thick glass with a sea green tint, and they opened into an atrium, where another set of identical doors opened to the lobby. They crossed the sand toned marble together, the pace just as slow as it had been up the steps. The Physical Therapist’s office was situated on the first floor, and Alfred gently slipped his arm away from Tim’s as they approached the door.

“Thank you for bringing me,” Alfred said, giving his arm a little pat. “Though I could have made it on my own.”

“As you would say, ‘Absolutely out of the question’.”

“Well, I won’t keep you from your work a moment longer. I assure you I am quite capable of making it home.”

Tim shook his head, giving Alfred a pointed look, “I know you are capable Alfred, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“Not another word my boy,” Alfred shooed him off with a wave of his hand. “Off you go, I must face my torturer alone.” With one last smiled Alfred stepped into the suite, leaving Tim alone by the elevator.

With a sigh Tim turned back into the foyer and sat in one of the low, black leather chairs that dotted the lobby. He set his briefcase on the glass tabletop of the iron legged table, mindful of the faux flowers arranged neatly in the porcelain vase. Situating himself took very little time, as he was practiced working in all kinds of conditions. Once the laptop was booting up, he slipped his Bluetooth headset on, sending a call through to Tam while he sorted through his paper files.

_“The greatest gift you have ever received speaking, how may I help you?”_

“Sorry Barbra,” Tim smirked. “I thought I was calling Tam, I must have misdialed.”

_“Fine, I will accept the title of second greatest gift, only because Barbara Gordon is a Queen, and even I am unworthy. Are you on your way back to the office?”_

“Change of plans, can you reschedule the meetings? Any other day this week is fine.”

 _“Oh, the meetings that start in hour?”_ Tam’s voice lilted sweetly. _“Sure, I can cancel them. Approve my time off for Cabo.”_

“Time off requests have to go through payroll first, they manage the master calendar. You know I can’t just approve it.”

_“Do not pretend you don’t have an override access; I know you have an override for everything. I go to Cabo.”_

“Tam, please.”

_“I really should get to the board room to set up soon. I know how you suits can be. I mean the Business kind, not the other kind.”_

“You have approval for Cabo,” Tim groaned. “Please update me if you run into any problems, even little ones.”

 _“What you suggest is impossible, because eliminating problems is what I do best.”_ Tim could hear the click of her shoes as she walked. _“Give my love to Alfred.”_

“I will, thank you.”

Working mobile was not as efficient as working from his office, it was slower without the benefit of two monitors, but Tim could make do, he had done more with less hundreds of times before, and at least here there were no additional distractions. He placed on a pair of thin, wire rimmed glasses and got down to business.

People passed in and out of the building as he worked, the sounds of the varying steps an occasionally rhythmic reprieve from the otherwise light echo from his clicking keyboard. Tim fielded a few calls, none from the people who were supposed to be in the meeting, which was a relief, but not entirely surprising, as he had never known anyone to make a fuss over instruction given by Tamara Fox .

The next time the door opened, Tim felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand alert, and it only took two foot falls for Tim to rise from his seat, unburdening his lap from work to watch Jason walk across the lobby.

“Jason?” Tim called out, walking toward him. “What are you doing here?”

While Jason looked surprised to see him, he didn’t immediately turn around and bolt back through the door, and Tim considered that a near miracle after their less than stellar meeting at the hospital.

“Hey,” Jason scowled, giving Tim a quick once over, taking in the glasses and navy pinstriped suit he wore today. The black striping was thin but the space between each was wide, and there was something almost dated about the style, but Tim managed to look like he was ready for a photoshoot. “Alfred asked me to pick him up from PT. Shouldn’t you be off with the corporate lemmings?”

Tim’s lips twitched at Jason’s comment, “I rearranged my day so I could take Alfred back home. I didn’t realize he had asked you.”

“Well he did. So…” Jason trailed off, pulling at the hem of his jacket.

“I can-“

“Timothy? I thought we weren’t seeing each other for a few weeks, is everything okay?“

“Dr. Meridian, hello” Tim said with a small gasp. “Everything is fine. I’m here for Alfred, he’s having PT in this building with Dr. Richards.”

“Oh Anthony!” Dr. Meridian smiled, nodding in approval. “He is excellent, Alfred is in very good, and very firm hands.” She turned her attention to Jason. “Hi, you must be Kon.”

Jason’s face scrunched in immediate distaste, “I must _not_ _be_.”

“Dr. Meridian, this is Jay, Jay, this is Dr. Meridian, my therapist. She works in this building.”

“Jay?” She asked, reaching a hand out for him to shake, realization coming in a blink. “Oh Jason, Jason hello. It’s very nice to meet you.” She released his hand, looking between them with wide eyes, before settling on Tim, smiling at him oddly. “Well, Tim, I will see at our next session. I’m sure we will have lots to talk about.”

The elevator opened and stepped into it, disappearing form view.

“So, are we gonna pretend you aren’t talking about me in therapy?”

“You’re surprised by this?”

“I guess I shouldn’t be,” Jason shrugged.

“You’ve had what she called _an emotional impact_ ,” Tim explained, pushing his frames further up his nose.

Jason cringed visibly, “Do I even want to know what you’ve concocted as a cover story?”

“No, you probably don’t.”

Silence hung for a moment and Jason rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Why did she think I was the Superbrat?”

“You two aren’t completely dissimilar in build and coloring.”

“Krypto kid wishes he could look this good.”

Tim shook his head mirthlessly. “Most people do Jason.”

The door of the suite swung open before Jason could respond.

“Master Jason, Master Timothy!”

“Hey Alf,” Jason greeted with a wave.

“Hello Alfred.”

“I thought you had gone back to work,” Alfred said, fixing Tim with a stern gaze.

“I’m sorry Alfred, when you said you would arrange transportation, I thought you meant a taxi. I didn’t realize you had asked somebody- Jason to come and get you.”

“I perhaps should have been more specific,” Alfred sighed. “I do hope you didn’t put in too much of an effort to rearrange things?”

“Of course not.”

Alfred wrapped Jason in a firm hug, “And you drove all the way across town.”

“It really wasn’t any trouble Alf,” Jason assured him, returning the hug. “I wasn’t doin’ anything important. And I’m glad to see you. You look great, the cane is very sophisticated”

“As sophisticated as it may look, I will be glad to be rid of it.”

“You’ll be corralling everyone with ease before Christmas,” Tim smiled encouragingly. “I have no doubt.”

“Well somebody needs to,” Alfred agreed, looking between them again. “Well, I am very appreciative that you’ve come Master Jason, but as I have already put you out I had better not put you out any further by asking you to take me home to the manor when Timothy is already here.”

“It’s really alright Alfred.”

“Jason, could help Alfred get to my car while I pack up my things?”

“Sure.” Jason said, offering his arm to Alfred with a mock bow.

“As charming as ever my dear boy,” Alfred laughed, slipping his hand around Jason’s bicep, and walking with him towards the glass doors.

Tim retuned to the sitting area and packed up his things. He stored his glasses back in the case and hooked the strap of the bag over his shoulder, exiting the building to catch up with Alfred and Jason. “Alfred, do you have any preferences? I can call in an order now and we can pick it up on our way back.”

Jason’s head whipped toward him, “Pick up?”

“Dinner,” Tim answered, pulling out his phone. “How about Thai, we haven’t had Thai in couple of weeks.”

Jason let go of Alfred as they stopped at the passenger side door, “Have you all been ordering take out since Alfred’s accident?”

“We get delivery too,” Tim shrugged, still scrolling through his phone. “Oh, pizza? I can order pizza.”

“Can none of you cook?!”

“It’s alright Master Jason, I don’t mind.”

“You deserve home cooked meals!”

“It was not one of the skill sets I managed to imprint on the others I am afraid,” Alfred sighed. “And soon I will able to stand long enough to cook again.”

Jason floundered, his hands twitching at his side, “That’s beside the point.”

“Well if you’re so insistent I would love for you to come over and cook then,” Alfred said, a too sweet smile on his face.

“Uh…” Jason’s voice creeped from his throat, dumbfounded.

Alfred pressed on still smiling, undeterred by Jason’s lack of response, “We could stop at the store on our way home.”

“No, you don’t-I can’t really-“

“Don’t be modest Master Jason, I know you’re an excellent cook.”

Alfred fixed him with an unwavering stare of warm expectancy. Jason released a sign of resignation, knowing there was no way he could deny Alfred anything, “You should head home. I’ll go by the store and meet you back at the Manor.”

“Wonderful! I look forward to it.” Alfred slid into the front seat of Tim’s car and closed the door.

“Gate code is 7829,” Tim mumbled before he dropped into his own seat, securing his seatbelt and shifting the car into gear, watching Jason fidget as he walked from his rearview mirror.

As they waited to pull out of the parking lot Tim spared a glance to the now beaming Alfred, “You planned that, didn’t you?”

“Timothy!” Alfred gasped, looking falsely affronted. “Are you insinuating that I, knowing that you would not in fact leave me at the office, deliberately requested Jason to pick me up, realizing that you would ask where we should pick up food for dinner, and with the understanding that I have of Jason know he would find the idea repugnant and would bring up the idea of home cooked meals leaving me with the opportunity to suggest he come over and cook? You must think me a criminal mastermind to have planned such a thing.”

“Does Bruce know?”

“No. I didn’t want to get his hopes up in case it didn’t work.”

“Well, I hope it goes well Alfred.”

“As do I.”

The rest of the journey was made in silence. The front gate opened automatically as the car approached, the gravel crunching familiar under the slow roll of the tires.

“I’m going to change before dinner Master Timothy,” Alfred said as the crossed the threshold, “if you could go to the kitchen and make sure it is cleared for Master Jason’s use?”

“Yes Alfred,” Tim agreed, leaving his briefcase on the entry table and hooking his over coat on the rack.

The kitchen was Tim’s favorite room in the house. The kitchen windows looked out onto the roses by the patio, and the breakfast nook had been the home to many pre and post patrol meals, Alfred always there with a cup of coffee if it was needed.

Tim laid his suit jacket across a bar stool and rolled up his shirt sleeves so he could empty the dishrack. The kitchen was otherwise clean, Tim had been periodically wiping down the counter tops and Bruce had been very good about empty the trash every few days, after Alfred had made a pointed comment about take away boxes attracting more vermin than Gotham’s docks. He did a once over on the stove for good measure, wiping down the excess water with a towel.

The click and roll of the bolt lock caught Tim’s attention, and Jason pushed his way through the door holding a brown paper bag, jiggling the key out with one hand. “Uh, hi. Key was still under the loose brick, I just thought I’d…come in.”

“Its fine” Tim dismissed with a wave. “Kitchen is clean. I didn’t know what you were making, or I would have gotten you pans or something.”

“Don’t worry about it. I think I still know where everything is,” Jason said setting the bag down and giving Tim a tense look, as he remained standing by the counter. “So…you can go.”

“Do you need help?” Tim asked.

“I don’t.”

“Do you want help?”

Jason paused, his jaw clenching quickly before he released it, “Just grab a cutting board, Replacement.”

Tim pulled on Alfred’s black apron, tying it around his waist and pulling his hair out of his face and looping it with elastic. He took out a large wooden cutting board and placed it on the island while Jason emptied the bag of its content.

“What are you making?”

“Shepard’s pie,” Jason grunted, pulling items off the spice rack before crossing to the pantry and to bring additional items back to the counter. He turned to the sink, pushed up his own sleeves and started washing his hands. “Get a peeler and a knife. You are responsible for peeling and cutting carrots and potatoes. That’s all.”

Jason filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove, the flame turned up high, before fiddling with the oven dial and setting it to preheat. He opened a package of ground beef, dumping it into a glass bowl and started breaking it up with his hand.

“Do you make this a lot?” Tim continued to probe, slicing the skins off the potatoes.

“Alfred used to make it for me a lot. Just seemed like the right thing.” Jason moved easily around the kitchen despite his obvious discomfort at being in the house. He shook a variety of spices over the meat without pause, handling the measuring spoons with the same dexterity he handled weapons.

“He misses you.”

“Don’t.” Jason warned.

“And so does Bruce,”

“You want to do this while I’ve got this much access to knives?” Jason asked, stopping his mixing.

“This is probably the safest place I could ever breach the subject,” Tim retorted eyeing the door that Alfred could pass through at any moment.

“I know you’re brave,” Jason said, turning back to his bowl, “but you aren’t stupid. So, drop it.”

“It’s not my business. I know it isn’t. But if you could just- give him a chance.”

“No.”

“Okay,” Tim agreed.” Sorry I brought it up.”

Jason glanced at Tim’s’ handy work, noticing the precision the vegetables had been cut. Painstakingly symmetrical for efficient and even cooking. Methodical, clinical, and without passion. “When the water is boiling throw in the potatoes. Put the carrots in with the peas and corn. And I’m going to need the corning casserole dish. The white square one with the blue flowers.”

Tim ducked beside Jason, pulling the porcelain dish from the lower cabinet, setting it beside him in the counter, peaking at the pot of simmering water as it struggled to reach a boil. “You really like cooking, don’t you?”

Jason sampled a small nibble of the raw meat, chewing thoughtful, “I suppose so. Why?”

“You’re smiling.”

Jason stiffened, intentionally frowning again. He took the lid off the pot of water, setting it on the counter. “Potatoes in. Can you cut an onion without crying?”

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted carefully sliding them into the water so it wouldn’t splash.

Jason grabbed a white onion and placed it on Tim’s cutting board. “Peel it, cut the ends, and dice it, into _fine_ pieces. If Alfred finds an unsettling chunk of onion in a bite it will be on your head.”

“I would never dream of disappointing Alfred in that way.”

As it turned out, onions did make Tim cry, and Jason had to step in halfway through, grumbling all the while.

“Why would a vegetable do this?” Tim whined, reaching up to press the heels of hands to his burning eyes.

“Don’t touch them, idiot,” Jason swore, wrapping his hands around Tim’s wrist to pull his hands away.

“They hurt!” Tim cried through watering eyes, making an attempt to tug his wrists free.

“Rubbing them with onion residue on your hands isn’t going to help,” Jason snapped holding firm. “Breathe through your mouth, that’s supposed to help.”

Tim blinked rapidly, willing the burn to vanish. He parted his lips, taking a few deep inhales through his mouth.

“You had on glasses,” Jason blurted suddenly. “Earlier. Why?”

“I wear them for work, when I’m using the computer. They help.”

The kitchen door swung open with a bang, and Jason flew back several feet to the stove, his neck shading pink. “I thought I could smell disappoint, and no wonder, the biggest failures I know in such close quarters.”

“That’s funny,” Jason drawled back, “because I thought I could smell sulfur, but its just your festering stench of teenage ineptitude.”

“Hello Damian,” Tim greeted, crossing to the sink to rinse his hands from the onion, “how was Mathletes?”

“Disappointing. There is no one there worthy of being my rival.”

“It’s about making friends with people who share a common interest.”

Damian levelled each of them with glare, “One cannot build alliances with inferiors.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, meeting Damian’s stare, “And that’s why you’ve left chess club, mock trial, and Student UN.”

“I don’t wish to waste time with those beneath me.”

“Me neither,” Jason cut in, draining the boiling water from the potatoes and setting the pot onto the counter, “which is why you can leave so I can stop hearing you speak.”

Tim almost chocked, the laughter ripping through his throat, unbridled and manic and without his consent. It lilted high and dropped into a horrifying cackle before he managed to clamp it down, his hands pressed against his own mouth to stifle it into nothing.

Two red spots appeared high and hot on Damian’s cheeks, “You’re not humorous Todd, don’t allow Drake’s reaction fool you into thinking you are.”

Jason held a masher loosely in his hand, leaning causally against the counter, “Damian, your opinion doesn’t matter. And when it comes down to it, I may not _like_ your Predecessor, but you, you mean nothing to me. And knowing your dear mother as I do, I’m sure she has made it clear how she feels about being thought of with indifference.”

“Do not speak of my Mother,” Damian growled, looking ready to launch himself on Jason.

Tim placed a hand against Damian’s chest, “Damian, go set the table.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“They aren’t my orders, it’s your night to set the table. Go or I’ll tell Alfred.”

Damian stomped off to the dinning room, swearing rudely in Arabic as he went. Tim watched Jason pour milk, butter, and seasoning into the pot and start mashing furiously, and electric intensity gripping his back.

“You don’t have to be so hard on him,” Tim said softly.

“Why would you defend him? He treats you as badly as he treats me.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“He was never a kid,” Jason spat, pushing past Tim to finish cutting the onion.

“And that’s part of the problem,” Tim pointed out.

Jason poured the onion into his pan and began aggressively sautéing the beef and veggies together, “He tried to kill you.”

“And so have you. It’s not necessarily a basis on which I can use to stop talking to people.”

Jason continued to seethe over the stove, watching the meat brown with determination.

“You know why he hates you, don’t you?” Tim asked.

Jason lowered the temperature on the stove with a quick flick of his wrist, “Cause he’s a gremlin who wishes to make everyone around him miserable?”

“Because he’s afraid that Bruce and Dick are going to realize that he’s like you. Dick lost his trust in his first Baby Brother and Damian is scared that someday Dick is going to see that you two aren’t very different. He didn’t know what love could be until he came here and when he looks at you, he sees that it can be lost.”

Jason huffed, draining the excess juices from the pan and ladling the steaming filling into the ceramic dish. “That ain’t an excuse for treating you like garbage.”

“I’m hoping I’ll wear him down with kindness,” Tim smiled carefully.

“Heaven forbid you try that with me,” Jason said, scooping the mashed potatoes on top and smoothing it out prettily with the back of the spoon.

Tim tilted his head, his blue eyes wide and innocent, “Are you saying it’s not working?” He teased.

Jason chose to ignore him, placing the dish into the oven and closing it with a snap and walking towards the door, “Just needs thirty minuets in there. Can you throw together a salad or something? I’m gonna go find Alfred.”

Tim did as requested and put an uncomplicated salad together, just lettuce, tomato and cucumber, with the store-bought croutons Tim liked to eat straight out of the bag. When it was finished, he started on cleaning up the kitchen, rinsing the pots and utensils in the deep farm sink. When they were done and drying, he hung the apron back up, rolled down his sleeves and took the salad bowl out into the dining room. He pulled an extra place setting out, not surprised the Damian had neglected to set a place for Jason, before returning to the Kitchen.

Jason was bent over the oven, pulling the shepherd’s pie out and setting it onto a kitchen towel on the counter. Alfred stood beside him, leaning on his cane, smiling wider than Tim had seen in weeks.

“This looks marvelous Master Jason; I am very impressed.”

“It’s just shepherd’s pie Alfred, you know it’s nothin’ fancy,” Jason mumbled modestly, but he looked pleased.

“It is a masterpiece,” Alfred assured him, “and if it tastes even a fraction as good as it looks we are all in for a treat.”

“Yeah well,” Jason shrugged, glancing at Tim. “I had some help.”

Tim could hear the door open for the main dining room and the low rumble of discussion that followed, as the others took their places around the table.

“Master Timothy, will you take the dish to the dining room? Master Jason if you would be so kind to assist me.”

Tim took it carefully, holding the edge of the towel over the still hot handles, pushing his way through the door. Bruce was in his place at the head of the table, Damien on his left and Dick on his right. He weighed his options, deciding to sit next to Dick, leaving the space next to Damian for Jason.

When Jason and Alfred stepped through the door, Dick and Bruce both made audible noises, and Tim could feel his teeth clench at the fact that Damian hadn’t mentioned their guest to them.

“Jason,” Bruce smiled, “this is a surprise.”

Jason stood next Alfred’s looking as uncomfortable as Tim had anticipated, “Alfred asked if I would cook.”

“Well we are lucky we get to reap the benefits of Alfred request. Please sit.”

Alfred took the seat opposite of Bruce, and Jason sat hesitantly next to Damian. Alfred served himself first, passing it next to Jason until it made its way around the table.

“How was school Damian?” Bruce asked his youngest, taking a drink from his glass.

“Uneventful,” Damian responded, separating the crispy potato top from the savory meat center.

“You had a history test today, didn’t you?” Bruce prodded.

“I anticipate I passed with flying colors.”

“And Dick, how are things with you?”

“Things are fine,” Dick answered, before smiling fully. “Officer Cho had her baby this week. So, our precinct been nothing but baby talk and pictures of the newborn.”

“Well that must make a nice change to mugshots,” Alfred chimed in.

“It is.”

“The Bludhaven numbers have been good lately,” Bruce continued speaking to Dick, “Barbara sent me the latest results and the violent crime in your sector is down overall eight percent from last year. That’s excellent progress.”

Dick nodded, swallowing a bite, “It’s a night and day effort.”

Bruce turned to Jason; his fork poised delicately in his fingers. “Jason, she sent the Crime Alley statistics as well. You’re doing some good work there. Violent crime is down five percent, non-violent crime is down ten percent, and you haven’t used any lethal force since you’ve been back.”

Dicks head shot up and he stared at Jason with wide eyes, “Really?”

Jason didn’t look up from his plate when he replied, “Most people aren’t worth the ammunition I guess.”

“I’d love to get insight from you,” Bruce went on. “Wayne Enterprise is interested in doing more outreach in the area, you would be a great source of information.”

Jason’s eye flickered up darkly, “Because that’s where you pulled me from?”

“Because you know the people and you know what they need,” Bruce offered simply.

“I’ll think about it,” Jason mumbled.

“Tim is spearheading the project. He could put together an information packet for you.”

Tim nodded, mumbling a quiet, “Sure,” though a full mouth of food.

“How was your first PT session Alfred?” Dick asked.

“Very successful. I’m certain I will regain my full faculties in no time at all.”

“Will you be well enough for Christmas Alfred?” Damian inquired. “I would hate for us to have to have it catered.”

“I am sure I will be able to prepare our traditional Christmas dinner Master Damian. However, Thanksgiving will not be feasible. It is simple too much for me to cook, I couldn’t stand for that long.”

“I could help you,” Dick offered.

Jason laughed harshly, looking at Dick. “Is Dickiebird allowed in the kitchen now? I thought he was banned after the waffle Iron incident all those years ago.”

“It is sweet of you to offer,” Alfred interjected, “but I believe the house would be safer without your assistance.”

Bruce looked to Jason again, his face filling with restrained hope, “Well I don’t suppose Jason, you would consider coming back for Thanksgiving?”

Jason set if silverware down with a thunk, “Bruce-“

“We would love to have you,” Bruce pressed on, “and Alfred could hardly ask for a better assistant.”

“Nothing would bring me greater happiness,” Alfred chimed in, his voice gentle.

Jason looked at Alfred, stricken by the man’s sweet and pleading face, “Alfred, I don’t really think…I don’t know if I’ll even be in town.”

Alfred smiled all the same, “I hope you will at least consider it.”

“Yeah Jay, you should,” Dick chirped. “You’re a good cook.”

Damian straightened up at Dick’s endorsement, a momentary look of surprise passing across his controlled features.

“Maybe,” Jason grumbled, returning to his dinner. “Pass the salt, Tim.”

Tim dropped his fork mid journey to his mouth, and it clanked loudly on his plate. He could feel himself turning red, so he kept his face down, and passed the shaker across to Jason without looking, picking his utensil up again the moment the salt was out of his grip.

“What?” Jason asked, looking around at the others, and back to Tim. “Are you all trying a low sodium thing or something?”

“No, it’s nothing, fork just slipped.” Tim assured, focusing on his food, his heart beating painfully against his ribs.

He had never heard Jason say his name before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a very hard time this chapter, and I am still not satisfied with it. Comments and Kudos are love, and always, always appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello Jason,” Barbara smiled carefully, slipping her hands in to her lap. Jason could feel pressure building in his chest at the sight of her, her eyes shining. She looked at him like she wants to love him, but she’s scared she isn’t allowed to. “Tim told me you would here, it's very good to see you. You look good.”  
> “Yeah, well you’ve looked better,” Jason frowned, his eyes darting pointedly to Bruce before returning the red head. “So has Prissy Bird. What’s up with him?”  
> “It doesn’t concern you,” Bruce spoke quickly, “he’s fine.”  
> “Well he didn’t look fine and I didn’t ask you Bruce, I asked Barbara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter 4 coming at you unbeta'd and has me shacking with nerves. Thank you for your continued support.

“We don’t need no mournful sound Shake your graveclothes to the ground.”

Graveclothes

By Birdtalker

The full length mirror was cracked, and it leaned precariously against the dirty plaster wall as Jason hastily unbuttoned the black dress shirt he had been wearing moments before. It joined the small pile on the floor, comprised of the only other two button ups he owned, and the dark grey t-shirt he had started out in. He picked up the burgundy shirt again, stuck one arm in before changing his mind with an angry huff. A collard shirt would send the wrong message. It spoke of effort. It made it appear as if he recognized this as a special occasion. And he wasn’t doing that. He was doing a favor. A favor for Alfred, to whom he would give a million favors but the clench in his stomach hadn’t loosened since he woke up this morning, and if he had eaten, he might have already thrown up.

He slipped the grey shirt back on. It was plain. It was unimpressive. It was perfect.

The drive was mild, most holiday traffic having already dissolved, and Jason pulled up the Manor before he was ready. He idled, his hand clamped around the gear shift, willing himself to put it in park. Tim and Dicks’ vehicles were already taking up space in the curved drive as well as a black bike he assumed belonged to Cass. He was only a few yards away from having to face the entire Bat Clan.

Jason’s eyes darted down to the clutch, picturing himself shifting it in to reverse and retreating back to his own apartment, but the imagined look of Alfred’s disappointment burned hot in his mind and he thrust it into park, climbed out and trudged to the front door. He raised a fist to knock but changed his mind before he could bring it down. Instead he wrapped his fingers around the handle and pushed open the door.

Voices drifted from the den and Jason could hear Dick's laughter suddenly carrying over the other sounds. He turned to the direction of the kitchen, walking silently across the plush carpet. The smell of the meal preparation was already strong, and Alfred was bent over the oven basting the turkey when he waltzed through the door.

“Take a seat old man,” Jason joked, watching Alfred shut the oven.

“Master Jason, hello! You’re just in time, I know I can trust you to make my Great-Grandmothers’ cranberry sauce with precision.”

“Your wish is my command,” Jason smirked, looking the respective recipe card over. “You’ve gotten a lot of prep done, I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.”

“I have been!” Alfred assured, sliding onto a bar stool. “Master Timothy has been kind enough to help me. He has recently been taught how to peel things; it’s been a terrific asset.”

The door from the dining room slowly pushed inwards. “Is this the platter you wanted, Alfred?”

“Yes, that is the one, just set it on the counter.”

Tim looked younger today, or perhaps he looked his age. Dressed down in jeans and a hoodie, a black apron tied around his waist, his hair was pulled back into that stupid little ponytail again, hairs falling out and resting messily against his forehead.

“Hello Jason.”

“Hey.”

Tim took an awkward step back, shifting away from the counter, “I’m glad you made it.”

Jason shrugged quickly, “Yeah.”

“Here,” Tim untied the apron and handed it to Jason. “I’ll let you guys get to it.”

“You are welcome to stay Master Timothy.”

Tim shook his head, more fly away hairs falling around his face, “I don’t want to get in the way of the experts.” He retreated from the kitchen, leaving the two of them to manage what remained of the meal.

Jason wrapped the apron around his waist and washed his hands, surveying the kitchen and the work that was started. He flipped the dish towel off the cooling rack, eyeing the two pies that lay beneath. “Knocked out the desserts already?”

“Timothy assisted me in making the pumpkin and apple last night. And there is a chocolate silk pie in the fridge.”

Jason re-covered them, throwing a weak smile in Alfred’s direction, “So much for no one else cookin'.”

“Well,” Alfred sighed, resting his chin on his hands, “he has not obtained any level of artistry, or even true interest. But he does always wish to be of use, perhaps there is hope for him yet.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jason mumbled. “Okay Alf, how much longer on the bird?”

“A couple of hours still.”

“Then you stay seated, and just tell me what to do. You’ve never had a holiday meal on the table a moment later than planned, and I won’t mess up your record.”

“Thank you,” Alfred smiled, “very much for doing this.”

Jason pored the bag of cranberries into a strainer, running them under the cool flow of the tap. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know that. Despite your own misgivings and sense of comfort, you’re here. You’ve always been exceptionally generous.”

“You got me here Alfred,” Jason smirked, “you don’t need to butter me up.”

“No harm ever came for showing appreciation to those who deserve it.”

“I think it’s impossible for you to bring harm to anyone.”

Alfred hummed in agreement, watching as Jason worked his way through the cranberry sauce, admiring the care he took in measuring the ingredients, the softness in the way he placed each cinnamon stick in the pot on the stove.

Jason followed each step in the kitchen as Alfred called out the pace, working on each dish with timed instructions, so that the meal was sure to fall together exactly when it was meant to. When they reached a standstill, Jason poured a glass of water for himself and refilled the one that sat in front of Alfred.

“A game of chess while we wait?” Alfred asked, inclining his head to the wooden box that sat on the shelf with the teacups.

Jason raised a puzzled eyebrow at Alfred, pulling it down and setting it between them. “You keep a chess set in the kitchen now?”

“Timothy,” Alfred began, unlatching the box and dividing the pieces between them, “in his wisdom believed it was a better alternative than mingling with the rest of the family.”

“Smart kid,” Jason grumbled, setting his small white army in their respective places.

“He is. Isn’t he?” Alfred gave a bright smile, fingers resting on either side of the playing filed.

“You like Tim, don’t ya Alfred?”

“I love all my children.”

“I know that. But how many pies did you burn last night tryin' to teach him?”

Alfred gave a dismissive flick of his hand. “The number is inconsequential.”

“Everyone thinks you’re soft on me,” Jason sighed, moving his first piece, “but you’ve a weak spot for Robin number three, don’t ya?”

Alfred paused, allowing the play to move back and forth between them before he expressed his next sentiment, with delicate caution. “When you came here, you were so starved for love. It pained me greatly, to know such a warm, and bright child had suffered so much neglect. And while you were weary, you blossomed here. You wanted love, even if you won’t admit that. It is evident that Timothy…does not feel deserving of that love. I d not believe he has ever felt deserving of affection, familial or otherwise. So, yes, I admit to having taken extra care in his upbringing since he joined the family.”

“The things you do for love, Alfred.”

“It should be the root of all things.”

They filled the spaces of waiting with chess, stopping when something new had to be prepped or put into the cooking rotation. Alfred remained steadfast in the kitchen, despite the others likely missing his company. It warmed Jason more than it should. He possessed a limited number of people whom he genuinely believed wanted to spend time with him, especially outside of work. Roy and Kori were a few of those people. They had spent enough time together as their alter egos, that it had bled into their civilian lives, and it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for them to meet up for meals or movies, when they managed to find the time.

But playing chess and cooking with Alfred felt, normal. It filled him with a familiar sense of home that he had let himself begin to believe he had when he first started living in the Manor. He enjoyed this, and it made his skin itch to admit that. Because even Alfred wasn’t enough to just forgive and forget.

“Hey Little Wing,” Dick popped his head into the kitchen before stepping all the way in. “Barbara’s here, she asked for you.”

“Go on,” Alfred nudged Jason. “I’m going to start plating. Master Dick, if you would so kind as to assist me? I’m certain you’ve the dexterity to accomplish this without incident.”

“I knew a guy who could do this walking on his hands, using his feet to carry the tray.”

Alfred gave Dick a light pat on his shoulder. “Best to leave that to the professionals.”

Jason left the kitchen, bounding up the steps and back through the corridors until he reached the main entry. The rest of the family was gathered there, Damian tucked close to Bruce. Stephanie with her arms crossed and Cass, ridged and alert, stood off behind Barbara, and Tim was curled up on Barbara’s lap, his arms looped around her neck as she ran a hand soothingly across his back.

“I promised I’d come. I keep my promises, right Tim?”

Tim appeared to be nodding, but he clung to her fast.

Bruce gave a sharp nod to Stephanie and Cass excusing them without a word. Bruce then dismissed Damian as well with a deliberately paced hand to his shoulder, and the three of them walked past Jason in the direction of the dinning room.

“Tim, it’s okay,” Barbara whispered to him. “Everything is okay.”

Eventually Tim loosened his grip, slipping away from her, with red eyes and an embarrassed grimace when he saw Jason standing there. He brushed passed him without a word, following the others to dinner.

“Hello Jason,” Barbara smiled carefully, slipping her hands in to her lap. Jason could feel pressure building in his chest at the sight of her, her eyes shining. She looked at him like she wants to love him, but she’s scared she isn’t allowed to. “Tim told me you would here, it's very good to see you. You look good.”

“Yeah, well you’ve looked better,” Jason frowned, his eyes darting pointedly to Bruce before returning the red head. “So has Prissy Bird. What’s up with him?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Bruce spoke quickly, “he’s fine.”

“Well he didn’t _look fine_ and I didn’t ask _you_ Bruce, I asked Barbara.”

Barbara straightened slightly, her lips tightening in the corners. “There are certain words that trigger Tim’s trauma. A comment was made, albeit unintentionally, which caused Tim an upset.”

“Barbara,” Bruce warned.

“Jason already knows, Bruce.”

“How does anyone 'unintentionally' mention someone’s trigger word in front of the them?”

“Damian misspoke-“ Bruce started.

“Yeah, I bet he did,” Jason bite out rounding on him. “I assume everyone knows what the words are.”

“Yes, everyone has been briefed.”

“So why did Damian say anything?”

“It was an accident.”

“What did he say?” Jason asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Shouldn’t I know what I can and can’t say in front of The Basket Drake to keep him from flipping out? And if this has been an issue for four years, why haven’t you benched him?”

“Because Red Robin doesn’t have the same issues as Tim does,” Barbara explained. “He utilizes intense compartmentalization in the field. And he has also been through a great deal of counselling and normally has things under control. He was taken off guard tonight. But I was here, I can settle him down quickly.”

“I want to know what the kid said.”

“He called me a ‘little baby’,” Tim spoke suddenly, stepping out into the hallway, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Under normal circumstances, I think I would have been fine but haven’t been sleeping well. Key phrases we try to keep off the table are from the lullaby. ‘Little Baby’, ‘Mockingbird’, ‘Looking glass’. And ‘JJ’. It's better just not to mention him, at all really. We also do periodic testing in the field to ensure I’m not effected when I’m working.”

Bruce took a few steps towards him. “Tim.”

“Alfred sent me to get you. Dinner is on the table and he doesn’t want it to get cold.”

“Then we should go,” Barbara agreed, propelling herself forward, following Tim.

Jason threw one last glare at Bruce before following suit. The others had all taken seats around the table. Dick stared pointedly away from Damian, who had the decency to look mildly admonished, though if it was for what he did or simply because Dick was ignoring him Jason couldn’t guess. They had taken the same seats they had the night before, as did Alfred. There was an empty space on the other side of both Dick and Damian, Cass and Stephanie sat across from each other, and the last empty chair was between Cass and Alfred, which Jason made a beeline too, immediately knowing it was the best choice. Barbara transferred out of her chair into the empty one between Cass and Dick, while Tim slid in between Stephanie and Damian. Bruce took his own seat after he set Barbara’s wheelchair against the wall.

“I won’t say much, as I don’t want to keep anyone for this fantastic looking meal for long. I am more grateful than I can say, to have my family gathered around this table, and we owe a very special thanks to Alfred and Jason for making this happen. And Tim, who assisted as well. Happy Thanksgiving,” Bruce smiled, raising a glass to the table. “Alfred, if you would do us the honors of carving the Turkey?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Alfred said, picking up the carving utensils and beginning to slice even sections of breast meat while the others grabbed dishes and started passing them around the table.

“Barbara,” Bruce started over the clinking flatware, “how is your father?”

“He’s doing well. We had brunch before he went into work today.”

“We won’t be offended if you don’t indulge too heavily in the meal then,” Alfred chimed in, setting the dismantled bird into circulation.

Stephanie nudged Tim sharply, extending the white china bowl further into his line of sight. “Tim, potatoes?”

Tim shook his head, leaning back in his chair so she could pass it off to Damian. And so, the items went around the table, Tim the most particular about what went on his plate.

“Perhaps we might go around the table and say something we are thankful for?” Alfred suggested once everyone’s plates were sufficiently stocked. “I would be happy to start.”

“Please, Alfred,” Bruce nodded.

“I am grateful for physical therapists. And my children.”

“Gravy,” Stephanie swallowed, whipping her mouth with the napkin. “And my Mom.”

“Prescription medications,” Tim mumbled into his plate.

“Tim,” Bruce warned.

He straightened up, his face drawing together to resemble the more composed Tim Jason had grown used to seeing, “I’m grateful for the meals the Martha Wayne Foundation was able to provide for those in need.”

Damian raised his chin, looking sharply at the others, “I am thankful for my superior training.”

Bruce cleared his throat, but Damian didn’t say anything further.

“My siblings,” Dick bobbed his head, looking almost bashful. “All of them.”

“Continuous opportunities to do better,” Barbra offered up.

“Safety,” Cass said, who carried a solemn air and was not known for mincing words.

Jason could feel most of the eyes settle on him, waiting for his own contribution to the sentimental nonsense. His eyes gave the room a once over, his instincts urging him to find an escape. Instead he settled on the dessert cart, his fingers tightening around his fork, “Apple pie, I 'spose.”

The rest of the dinner conversation started off stilted, until it began to flow with what Jason’s assumed was the regular rhythm. He kept out of the discussions, only exchanging light conversation with Alfred and the occasional grunt to Cass to pass something his way. He watched, as if an outside observer behind glass. The quick exchanges, the playful banter, the raucous jokes that left the others laughing; heads thrown back in abandon, with the exception of Tim, who smiled tight lipped, swallowed down his laughter, and pressed his knuckle nervously into the hollows of his throat.

When everyone had it eaten their fill, it drifted into a sated quiet. 

“A break before pie?” Dick asked after a while. “We could play games?”

“Or take a nap,” Stephanie laughed, rubbing exaggerated circles on her full belly.

“I should probably get going,” Jason interjected lightly, seeing his opportunity for escape. “I usually get four hours in before my route.”

“Master Jason, I do wish you’d stay. There are plenty of available guest rooms to rest and you can still get your pie.”

The idea of his guard letting down enough to sleep here was not likely. But Alfred looked on, hopeful and imploring and heartbreakingly optimistic.

“Sure Alf, save me a piece of apple if I oversleep.” He pushed away from the group, leaving the room as they discussed which game they wanted to start playing. The Manor grew effortlessly quiet as he walked away from the gathering. Jason was not known as a light stepper, but these halls kept him constrained and his boots stayed nearly silent as he transitioned from marble, to hardwood, and then thick carpets, as he made it into the guest wing.

He pushed open the nearest door, expecting the clean generic blankness Alfred had always managed to maintain. But this room had a regular occupant. The bed was rumpled and unmade, and the pile of discarded clothes in front of the mirror reminded Jason of his own struggle of deciding how to dress for dinner. He stepped into the room before he could stop himself, kicking a shoe absent mindedly from his path, his eyes scanning each wall and surface. This was Tim’s room. If the mess and many photographs didn’t give it away, the smell would. The light scent of newsprint and coffee radiated from room, clear and lived in.

“Can I help you?”

Jason spun around, watching Tim stalk into the room, frowning, but not angry.

“Why is your room in the guest wing?”

Tim didn’t answer, he pulled a colorful box from one of his shelves, the staged picture a people laughing as they rolled the dice out of place in the tenseness.

“Prissy Bird _why_ is your room in the guest wing?”

“Why do you want to know Jason?” Tim asked sternly. “Are you hoping I’ll give you an answer different from what you’ve already deduced? You aren’t all brawn and no brain. You aren’t’ stupid, you’re far from it. So, what do you expect me to say?”

“I want ya to tell me that Bruce made this decision,” Jason spat, “and you didn’t self-impose this isolation onto yourself like a leper-stricken martyr.”

“Well it’s a good thing you’re used to being disappointed,” Tim shrugged. “I didn’t come here to take a place that isn’t mine, regardless of what you think of me. The guest wing is where I belong.”

“Seriously?” Jason scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things, which you know. You said it best yourself after all, _The Basket Drake_ does have a nice ring to it.”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Tim waived him off. “Seriously, I get it. I really do. And you know what, I would rather be compared to the Basket case. Could be worse, at least you don’t think of me as the spoiled princess with problems too small to even worry about.”

“I wasn’t trying to pass judgement,” Jason seethed.

“No,” Tim snapped, “because that would be beyond hypocritical.”

Jason huffed, fisting a handful of hair in frustration, “Has Bruce ever tried to talk you into taking a room in the main hall?”

“No, but only because I explained my stance firmly to him when I moved in. Everyone else has though.”

Jason glared at Tim, his heart beating erratically in his chest. “Did Damian say what he said on purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Tim sighed. “I whined about not getting to hug Barbara first. I think he just said what he said on an impulse.”

Silence stretched between them, and Tim readjusted his grip on the box and Jason shifted his hands to his pockets. “Why do you stay here?”

“Family.”

“That’s a small word for all the trouble you seem to put yourself through.”

Tim gave a small smirk. “Maybe I like trouble.”

“Maybe you do,” Jason agreed.

“The other rooms are all empty,” Tim told him as he walked past him, leaving him to stand dumbfounded in his room. “Feel free to take your pick.”

Jason didn’t go to another room. He climbed out the nearest window and drove as fast as he could away from the house. Away from the disappointment that shadowed Alfred when he came to look for him. Away from the lighter he left on Tim’s bedside table.

When he went on patrol that night, only to find a slice of apple pie packed secularly in a piece of tupperware at one of his usual rest stops, his throat constricted abruptly. He peeled the yellow sticky note from the lid, reading through the enhanced view of his helmet.

_I asked R.R. to leave this somewhere you could find it, since you were unable to have a piece after dinner. Thank you again for joining us, I know it was not easy for you to do. I hope you’ll join us for Christmas, no cooking on your part required. Love, A._

The wall he had built to separate himself from the others suddenly felt as though it had crumbled on top of him, crushing him, suffocating him. Before he could think twice, he chucked the container with such force and venom that it cracked against the building across from him. His chest seized quickly, and he fumbled with his helmet, yanking it off as he tried to catch his breath, be couldn’t tell if it was the Pit or a panic attack, but he dropped his head between his knees, counting out long breaths to calm himself down.

Where the wall had been, he now craved a chasm. This was not what he had bargained for when he went to visit Alfred in the hospital.

After what felt like too long and Jason had regained his composure, he pulled out his phone, flicking through his contacts, which had been padded by Barbara with additional numbers he would not have obtained on his own. It only rang twice before the call was picked up on the other end of the line.

_“Hey Jay, everything okay?”_

“I need a favor,” Jason rushed.

_“Of course, what can I do.”_

“Can ya cover me for a little while? Just pop in and check on the girls and some of my contacts every couple a’ days, if anything major comes up, I can come back.”

_“Sure, I can swing that, everything okay?”_

“Yeah, I just need to get out of town.”

_“Family trouble?”_

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Don’t call them that.”

 _“Sorry,”_ Roy apologized. _“I’ll take care of things, just let me know when you’ll be back.”_

“Thank you. I’ll get ya something extra special for Christmas.”

_“I’m counting on it.”_

Jason ended the call, taking one last deep breath before replacing the helmet. He headed back to his apartment with the soul purpose of packing.

* * *

Jason didn’t return to Gotham until the end of January. The weather switched back and forth from full flurries to icy slush, and he had already begun his countdown to the spring. He had mailed a card to Alfred, a simple apology, with no explanation for his drop off the radar, but the butler was smart enough to understand the cause without it laid plan in front of him.

Jason stumbled into his apartment, duffel bag slack in his grip, exhausted in the way only traveling can make a person. He dropped himself with a heavy thud on his couch exhaling heavily. It was easy to close his eyes, letting himself drift partially into sleep before thinking better of it and shifting up right.

His eyes fell to the corner of the room near the window, where a stocking was hung, and a collection of parcels lay brightly colored and glossy in the dimming light of the evening. Jason walked to the display, pulling the stocking towards himself and reaching a tentative hand inside. He sifted through the assorted candies and cholates, pulling out a pair of socks, and a few gift cards; one for the cinema, one for the bookstore, and one for the Burger joint on 17th he liked.

The largest gift was from Alfred, and Jason ripped the paper off with an odd suspense in his gut, that he could only remember feeling on his Christmas’ at the Manor. Inside the box was a brand new set of pots and pans, complete with a receipt, noted in Alfred’s neat handwriting that should Jason decide to return them, he should ask for Camille, as she was helpful in the process of the original purchase.

The next one he grabbed was from Barbara and Dick, which contained two cookbooks, one for healthy meals on the go, and the other was for sweets and desserts, and it was easy for Jason to see who picked out what.

There were three that just had Jason’s name on them, written in Bruce’s slanted scrawl. He opened a first edition copy of _Persuasion,_ followed by a handsome, navy colored button down with a ban collar, and the last, a thin envelope, revealed a certificate, noting a generous donation made in his name to Gotham’s’ New Hope Pathways Center for addiction recovery.

Jason assembled the gifts neatly together, wadding up the now crumpled paper. He bent down to retrieve a stray scrap from the floor, when he caught sight of a small package caught awkwardly in the corner. He set the trash aside, picking up the box and turning it over in his hands.

It was plain green paper and was unmarked; the lines folded with such exactness they were near invisible. Jason dug the uneven edge of his nail under the tape, rolling the white box onto his palm. He lifted the lid off, tucking it under the bottom of the box and folded the tissue paper back, reveling the polished black rectangle that lay with in. He lifted it up, holding the cold metal between his thumb and forefinger, admiring the filigree as it caught the light. Turning it over he found his emblem engraved on the side of the lid, faint and almost undetectable. He flicked up the cap and rolled the barrel with practiced ease and the flame erupted hot in front of his eyes.

He snapped it shut with a click, slipping it into his pocket and easing his phone out with the now free hand. He walked into his room, falling back on top the covers of his bed, his face a wash in the bluish light from his screen.

He typed a quick message, waiting for it to send, with his lip between his teeth.

_Thanks for the lighter_

Jason waited, the screen diming, but not blacking out completely before the replay came in.

_You’re welcome._

Jason watched as the three little dots moved, pulsating as Tim continued to type.

 _I take it Roy_ _is off rotation now?_

With a soft scoff he smiled, is thumbs drumming out a quick response.

_Was it obvious?_

_I’m sure no one else noticed._

_But you did?_

_I notice everything._

Jason kicked of his shoes, crawling under his blankets and burying his head into his pillows. Jason’s fingers hovered above the keys, hesitating before he typed another message.

_Did you get to go temple, or whatever?_

_They don’t have special services for Chanukah._

_But I did manage to light the candles most sundowns._

_Only most?_

_Killer Croc got in the way of the third night._

Jason snorted, the sudden image of Tim brandishing a Menorah as a weapon to fight an opponent that size flashing through his mind. The only light in the room now came from his phone, as the sun vanished behind the towering buildings of Gotham. Before he ventured out into his section of the city, he knew he needed sleep to shake off the jetlag, but he hesitated to hook his phone to the charger.

_Only in Gotham._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That it for Part 1, but keep an eye out because there will be more parts of this coming. Comments and Kudos are love, thank you so much for reading!


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